


Steadfast

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4529283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Théoden is serviced by his best rider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steadfast

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Theoden sitting on his throne while Emomer is kneeling between his legs and very much busy and happy with sucking him off, to show loyalty or something like that. +if there are a lot of other people in the room with them. all very turned on, but only those above a certain rank has premission to wank while watching” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2320.html?thread=9965584#t9965584).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

His head tilts back against his chair, luxurious and wanting, while his hands run down his thighs. His thumbs skim the eager face between, warm skin and golden hair. The light slips into the rich halls through towering windows and sets a glow along Éomer’s head, as though he wasn’t already beautiful enough. 

He’s the most beautiful thing Théoden’s ever seen, and he’s talented and fiercely loyal. He kneels at his king’s feet and slides his perfect lips up and down the thick shaft before him, jaw stretched wide. His fair cheeks are tinted pink, eyes heavy. When those dilated pupils look up through long lashes, _adoration_ simmers through, hot and wanton. His mouth is a warm cavern, wet and slick. His tongue slithers along the bottom, stimulating and stroking even as Éomer swallows Théoden down, taking the long cock into his throat with a certain practiced skill. 

When Éomer first offered his body to Théoden, he was hesitant to take it, though now he can’t imagine why. Éomer phrased it like an _honour_ , and the _want_ shone through in his gaze, his voice. He surrounds Théoden with devotion and worships the body before him, his hands subserviently lowered to the floor but his broad shoulders leaning forward. His spine is arched prettily, hair cascading half down his front, cheeks hollowing as they _suck_ , deep, hardy things that send a shiver up Théoden’s old bones. He isn’t so old yet, still strong enough to _fight_ , though his advisor cautions him against it more and more. He has a young buck to do it for him. Éomer hums happily around him, keening to serve. 

Théoden restrains himself as long as he can. But it grows too much, as it always does, and his hands waver, lifting to slide into Éomer’s silken hair, fingers threading through and fisting, careful not to pull. He holds Éomer steady, though Éomer doesn’t need the help. Éomer bobs up and down of his own accord, a solid rhythm, riding Théoden with his tremendous skill, all his tricks along the way with teasing licks and forceful suckles that push Théoden ever closer. If they were alone, he would be a wreck, moaning and shoving Éomer down.

But he’s in the throne in his open hall, all his most trusted men before him. The highest ranking, those who fought the most valiantly, stand in honour, allowed to do as they bid. They openly touch themselves to the sight of their worthy captain on his knees, while those without permission wear strain, envy, and admiration. It’s the best motivation to advance Théoden can offer. Even those not normally swayed by men show lust for Théoden’s prized stallion, and he allows the pleasure to show on his face, boasting what a lovely ride this is. Théoden’s new advisor watches from the shadows with a fiercer jealousy than the rest. He still has a ways to go before he will be allowed to spend himself before Théoden’s throne, and certainly before he has any chance of tasting Éomer’s sweet lips. Rohan isn’t a realm opposed to sharing, but for now, Éomer remains _Théoden’s_ : too precious a thing to tire out with all the hands that want him. 

A benefit of Théoden’s many years is that he can last awhile with this, but even he can’t hold forever, not against the onslaught of Éomer’s greedy tongue. Théoden reaches his peak with his fingers dug tight against Éomer’s scalp, and he grits his teeth to hiss his groan. He climaxes in Éomer’s ready mouth, still buried down Éomer’s throat, and Éomer, unlike the shier men of Théoden’s past, doesn’t gag or choke. He never wavers. He simply drinks from his king’s shaft, swallowing his tight throat around Théoden’s organ, milking out all the more. He swallows several rounds of it and stays on after, suckling gently. He doesn’t stop until Théoden is nearly sore and guiding him back, palm against his forehead. Then Éomer slides away. His lips glisten as he releases Théoden’s spent cock, mouth spit-slicked and slightly swollen. 

He tucks Théoden back in and dutifully fastens everything back into place: a tidy arrangement. Then he presses a firm kiss to the front, lingering for a noticeable moment. 

Théoden bids, almost breathless, “Rise.”

Éomer obeys. He stands before Théoden, tall and handsome, remarkable and worth more than all of Théoden’s best stables.

Times like these, Théoden appreciates more than ever that he’s retained much of his strength in his increasing years, for when he draws Éomer into his lap, his thighs can still withstand the weight. He brings Éomer’s stained mouth to his, to the varying release of his watching subjects, all struck with pleasant awe.


End file.
